The Ghastly Tango
by DragonMaiden
Summary: 10 years after Harry's graduation Voldemort returns and takes over London. The trio now has to travel 100 miles to Hogwarts, the only safe haven, and learn to survive in a much more vicious world than any of them has ever known. Either that or fight back.


It was raining.  It always rained now.  A disgusting, brown, greasy rain that smelled of death, rot, and decay.  It seeped through your clothes and made the ground almost slippery to walk on.  Far worse than acid rain, it would sting your skin and burn your scalp.

          It hadn't always rained like this.  Just a year ago, Harry Potter would have been sitting at home in front of the fireplace, reading a book with his feet in socks on a poufy footstool, listening to the soft patter of the clear, clean raindrops on his roof and on the street outside, falling on the autumn leaves.

          Now he was living in an abandoned building, standing near a fire he had made in a metal barrel, which didn't take away nearly as much of the autumn cold as he would have liked.  He and Ron and Hermione Weasley had done their best to make it comfortable there, considering their present situation.  They had collected as many blankets and coats as they could seize from the department store raids in London, as well as food and other necessities, but they knew it couldn't last for long.  London wouldn't last that long.

          As Harry stood in front of the flaming barrel filled with discarded computer paper (the building had once been full of offices) he wondered how it could ever be possible that he and his two best friends could be cold and shivering in a derelict building instead of enjoying the prime of their lives like most other twenty-seven year olds did.  He stamped his feet, but didn't sit down; the little warmth that came from the barrel didn't reach the floor.  Instead he closed his eyes, still seeing the red light of the flames through his eyelids.  He leaned closer and felt the warm air brush his face.  It was as much comfort as could be expected in a time like this...

          _How had it come to a time like this anyway?_ He thought to himself.  

He let out a sad sigh and opened his eyes.  Hermione and Ron still hadn't come back yet.  They had been out looking around—keeping an ear out for news, watching for people they knew who were also hiding, and looking for any new provisions, while staying as far away as they could from the thousands of Death Eaters and new Ministry Order troops who now patrolled the bleak streets of London.  

          Harry closed his eyes again and thought for the thousandth time about how this had all happened...

          Ten years ago in Harry's seventh year, he, Ron, and Hermione had faced Voldemort together for the last time, so they thought.  In the process, they had all been subjected to the Crucius curse, enduring more pain than any of them could have thought possible.  That spell would not allow anyone to die; only Avada Kedavra could do that.  So, for more than twelve hours, tied to stakes and surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of Death Eaters, some with faces they knew well, they had been in unbearable, excruciating pain; all fading in and out of consciousness for hours... and hours... and hours, for what reason only Voldemort knew.  Possibly revenge, possibly pleasure, and possibly because he just liked seeing his arch nemesis and his friends in absolute submission.  But probably an unclear mixture of it all.  

But in a viciously blind oversight, he had forgotten that they still had their wands, tucked away in their robes—or what robes that had still remained on them.  They had all been stripped mostly naked, at their most vulnerable, adding to their humiliation.  But they had somehow held onto their wands.  

          When all three seemed on the verge of death, they had somehow looked at each other with an understanding (in their blurry eyes streaked with blood and tears) that spoke a thousand decibels louder than words ever could:

          _Do it now._

And at that moment, a wonderful thing had happened.  The three had somehow freed their hands (to this day they had no idea how) and performed the Avada Kedavra curse on Voldemort.  The combined effect of Ron and Hermione's spells had rendered Voldemort temporarily powerless, while Harry's wand again connected with Voldemort's, who had at that moment tried to launch the Crucius curse on them another time, trying to double the effect.  The same thing occurred at that moment as had occurred at the end of the Triwizard Tournament three years earlier, only this time hundreds of people came out of Voldemort's wand, all of them his victims of the recent and past years.  After a while they saw Cedric Diggory, Frank, the old Muggle; Bertha Jorkins; and eventually... Harry's parents.  

The three friends had collapsed to the ground, still tied to the stakes by their feet.

James and Lily Potter had walked up to the three wide-eyed and speechless teens lying on the ground, and, like angels, had touched their foreheads with the palms of their hands, causing the throbbing pain of the Crucius to ebb away.  

The echoes of Cedric, Frank, Bertha, and the other victims had surrounded Voldemort so he couldn't move, and his Death Eaters couldn't help him.  The Potters just looked Harry and his friends, in the clothes they had been wearing the night they died seventeen years ago.  They hadn't said a word, but they had helped each of them to their feet and embraced them, their luminous skin feeling warm and solid, the warmth of it transferring to their cold and shivering bodies, still twitching with spasms of pain.  It gave them strength enough to respond to Voldemort's power.

When the echoes of everyone stood back and Harry was facing Voldemort again, their wands still connected, Harry suddenly and automatically knew what to do.  He drew his wand upwards, breaking the connection, and weakly whispered "_Avada Kedavra_!" before Voldemort could do anything.  Voldemort had disappeared with a loud and nasty crack.  He was gone.

Everyone afterwards thought he was dead.  Harry vividly remembered the ending feast celebration, when he, Ron, and Hermione had to be present in wheelchairs, since they still hadn't fully recovered.  It would take them weeks to recover.   But it was there that Dumbledore had announced that Voldemort had finally been defeated, that he was finally gone forever.  If Dumbledore couldn't find any sign of him, surely that meant he was gone... right?

No.  Just last year, after nine very happy, Voldemort-free years, he had come back.  No one was quite sure how, but he had definitely proven it by performing a mass Avada Kedavra spell on Diagon Alley and the surrounding Muggle London.  

So many people had died... thousands and thousands... so many had lost their homes and families... all the businesses closed and shops were raided... the Death Eaters and Ministry troops controlled everything now.  The Old Ministry of Magic had been overthrown, replaced by one controlled by Lucius and Draco Malfoy.  The Dark side had made themselves known.  Voldemort was truly in control now.

          Harry opened his eyes and looked around the room.  It was in the basement of the building, near the furnace, and it had been Harry's hope that by one incredible chance, it still worked.  No such luck.  But it was still better than some places he had stayed over the past few months.

          His house had been destroyed.  Everything he had had been lost.  He had wandered around alone for days afterwards until he somehow met up with Ron and Hermione, miles away from his former home.  The three had wandered for days... days and days... with nowhere to go, and no knowledge of any of their friends or family.  Ron and Hermione, who had been married for almost one year, were mostly worried about their families, as Harry didn't have any family left to be worried about.

          They had finally reached London, which had been dealt the brunt of the damage.  Diagon Alley was completely destroyed, and the surrounding Muggle London had been reduced to ruins.  Before they'd found this abandoned office building, they'd stayed in a parking garage, on a rooftop, and in an Underground station.  All of these places had either been found out by Death Eaters or Ministry Order troops, or had eventually collapsed.  Every time had been a very near escape.  This office building was fairly secure, so they were likely to stay here for at least a little while longer, unless they were found out.

          Despite the hopelessness of their situation, there were some reasons not to lose all hope.  Most (it definitely wasn't all) of their friends they knew from Hogwarts were somewhere in London, not dead or captured... or turned... yet.  Harry wished the same could be said for the Weasleys and the Grangers.  He had no idea about them, or what the Dursleys were doing now; he hadn't spoken to them in five years.  

Frankly, he didn't care much.

          At that moment Ron and Hermione ran down the short cement steps from a back door leading outside.  They rushed across the basement, carrying three bundles of things they'd gotten.  They were wearing fairly worn Muggle clothes—old sneakers, too-big jeans, sweaters, and jackets.  Hermione had a purple scarf.  They had grabbed as much clothing as they could carry when the large department stores had been raided a few months ago, and they continued to pick up anything they found now that could be useful.  Ron had found Hermione a long, black gown... not that she would ever be able to wear it anywhere.  They had to resort to more Muggle customs than they were used to, since Voldemort had confiscated every non-Death Eater's wand as soon as he'd returned.  

Harry turned away from the barrel and sat down on the pile of blankets they used as beds, while Ron and Hermione knelt down and emptied the contents of the bags.

          "Anything good?" Harry asked.  Ron smiled.

          "Chocolate," he said, pointing to two large bars, "some bloke who said he was allergic gave it to us in exchange for an extra pair of gloves we had." Hermione quickly tapped him hard on the arm, as if to tell him to shut up.  Harry suddenly looked up at him, slightly frowning.

          "Hey, I was wondering where my gloves went!  You traded them for chocolate?"

          "Harry, believe me, it's worth it.  Not quite Honeydukes, but better than those rotten carrots we keep finding.  Eat up." Harry obediently grabbed a bar and carefully took off the wrapper.

          "What else?" he mumbled through a sweet, brown mouthful.

          "Well, we've got bread, green peppers, ketchup, and some more sweets..." said Hermione, digging through the rest of the bundles, "...and we also found another sweater... a pair of shoes—those'll probably fit you, Harry—oh, and we also found a ten pound note someone had dropped!"

          "It was half-buried in mud, but ten pounds is ten pounds!" added Ron, who by now had become quite used to Muggle money, since wizard money was now extremely hard to come by.  The Death Eaters had taken most of it.

          Harry nodded contentedly.  This should hold them for a few days.

          "Did you see anyone?  Any news?"

          "We saw a few people who live in the warehouse down the street, but no one else we knew.  Nothing much else left out there, unless you look under all the rubble—" Ron broke off and shuddered, and instinctively held onto Hermione's arm.  

They all knew what was under the rubble—corpses almost a year dead, decaying with the help of the seasons and the maggots that thrived down there.  So many people were missing... most of the people who had survived and were still hiding in London spent their time listening out for news and looking for missing friends and family.  Sometimes they found them, quite by accident, and their reactions were achingly upsetting and disturbing.  Harry shuddered to think of it.

Hermione and Ron sat close together, holding hands and sharing an orange they'd brought.  Harry smiled inwardly when he thought of how much they had stuck together and stayed together in this hard time.  He didn't remember them having one argument since Voldemort had come back.

They had been married for almost two years now.  They had been together for a long time before that—in fact, he suspected that they had become very close ever since the frightening end of their seventh year.  He remembered them lying in the hospital wing late at night for days afterwards, talking when they'd thought Harry was sleeping, about things he would never expect them talk about.  They had gotten a new perspective of life and all it had to offer since their ordeal, and they became closer than ever.  

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione suddenly, "We saw Danny, Paul, Alice and their gang of street kids over by the warehouse—they said that Colin Creevey was captured yesterday.  Over in the next street."

Harry looked up.  Colin had been living with a large group of wizards and Muggles, in an abandoned school the next street over from the office building.  If the Death Eaters were finding people that close, it meant they would have to move soon.  Ron read his mind.

"You know, we might have to find another place... I know this is the best out of all we've found, but it's just too dangerous."

"Yeah," Harry said softly.  He suddenly felt restless and pent up in the small space, so he stood up and stretched like a cat, brushing his fingers against the low ceiling. 

"You know, I'm feeling really restless... I think I'll go for a walk,"

"Alone?  Don't you want one of us to go with you?" asked Hermione, looking a little concerned.  Harry chuckled.

"No, I could never separate you two.  I'll be back in a little while."

"Okay.  Mind you behave yourself, Harry," said Ron, sounding very Percyish.  Harry rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs.

The rain had stopped.  That was good.

He turned away from the building and stood outside in the chill autumn air before deciding where to go.  A year ago when it used to be this late in the afternoon, the sun would usually come out and dye everything a deep, luscious orange.  Now the sky was mostly a brownish green, and the sun hardly ever shone through.  A stale breeze ruffled the hair above his trademark scar.  Harry wrinkled his nose and turned left down the street.

He always avoided the outskirts of London, since the buildings there were weaker and had received the most damage.  Who knew how many missing bodies were out there.  Harry didn't like to think about it.  Instead he headed downtown, towards the marketplace that had been set up after the attack, where most of the refugees congregated when the Death Eaters and troops weren't out and about.

Some of the young and orphaned street kids, wizard and Muggle, survived by selling things here.  They circled the square, holding clothes, food, and sometimes books and other things they'd found in the wreckage.  Pounds weren't the only things used as money; people would trade jewelry, barter other items... and sometimes even sell themselves on the streets, late at night.  But the smartest and less destitute didn't dare stay out after dark—that was when the horrors began.

Harry was feeling very thirsty by now, but the area's drinking water hadn't been trustworthy for so long he had almost forgotten what it tasted like.  People could get rather successful by selling other beverages instead—mostly homemade fruit juice and booze.  He didn't really feel like drowning his sorrows in alcohol, so he bought a large paper cup of hand-squeezed orange juice from a tiny girl with long, blonde hair.  He gave her an extra fifty pence and patted her on the head, smiling kindly.  She beamed with joy at him and held it in her hands like a precious treasure.  _Poor little kid_, he thought, _probably lost her parents..._ then he silently shook his head at the cruel irony.

He walked on, politely acknowledging a few waves and hello's directed toward him.  He was rather familiar with some of the people, but most were total strangers who knew who he was and waved anyway.  He shook his head again, smiling sadly.  After all of this, people still thought of him as the Boy Who Lived.  _The Boy Who Just Got Lucky A Couple Of Times_ would be more accurate.  He was actually pretty surprised most people didn't have some sort of vendetta against him, now that Voldemort had returned worse than ever.  He had almost assumed that they would be blaming him for failing to get rid of him properly ten years ago, or failing to attempt anything now.  _What would you want me to do?_ he thought.

He walked out of the market square and continued down an auto-less street.  He looked around at the too-few people that were walking around him.  _There should be ten times more people than this..._ he thought.  _It's sickening to think of what's probably happened to the rest.  Dead... killed... or worse, joined the Death Eaters.  Hopefully if they've survived and haven't turned over, they've found someplace out of the city... _He thought about the Weasleys and Grangers and shivered involuntarily.  

He hadn't heard from any of them since the attack.  He suspected Voldemort had been responsible for putting all owls out of work so no news could travel.  The newspapers certainly weren't in business anymore.  All news everyone here received now came by word of mouth.  And speaking of which...

Harry saw a group of people he knew a little farther down the street.  It was about half and half of wizards and Muggles, but no one paid much attention to that difference anymore.  It didn't _make_ much difference, now that no one had any wands.

This group was moderately sized compared to most other gangs of the city.  It was mostly street kids, but some adults hung out with them too.  Harry had gotten to know them when they had shared the same parking garage a few months ago, before Harry, Ron, and Hermione had moved to the office building.  Harry waved to them, smiling warmly.   The leader, a tall, brown-haired Muggle named Brian about three years younger than Harry, waved back and walked up to him, thumping him on the shoulder.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, "How've you been?  Still holding up in that old basement?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "for the moment, anyway.  We had quite a good haul today, so we should be set for the next few days.  How're you doing?  Did you all move into the chapel as you'd planned?"

"Nah, Janet's gang was already there—" Janet Greene was a former Hufflepuff witch a few years younger than Harry; he had remembered her from Hogwarts, "—we moved into a big clothing store a few streets over.  Not many things in there were touched during the raids, so we found quite a few items there waiting for us." 

He smiled good-naturedly. 

"Any sign of Creepies?" he asked Harry.  Creepies was the word Muggles used for Death Eaters.  Harry shook his head.

"I haven't seen any, but we heard Colin Creevey's been captured.  Right over in the street next to us.  You remember the old school?"

Brian paled.

"The school... yeah, I remember... we'd've moved in there instead of the store, but it was too full... blimey, Colin Creevey?  Anyone else?"

"Not that I know of,"

"Hmmm..." Brian looked pensive.  

A teenage girl who Harry knew had lost her voice in the attack suddenly elbowed Brian's arm, as if to remind him of something. 

"Oh!" Brian exclaimed so loudly that Harry and the rest of the group jumped, "I almost forgot!  I was talking to Janet yesterday, and she heard that—Hogwarts, or whatever it's called—hasn't been touched yet!"

_What?_

Brian must have read the shocked look on Harry's face.

"That's right... and the headmaster—Bumbledore is his name?—is taking in people who need protecting... which is everybody, I guess.  I think they're going to form a resistance to fight back!"

_Fight back...? _Harry thought, _we can still fight back?_ _Dumbledore's still alive?  He's keeping people at Hogwarts?  Wizards _and_ Muggles?_

It sounded too good to be true.  But suddenly he felt as if the balloon that had been rapidly swelling in his heart had burst when he realized something:

_But Hogwarts is hundreds of miles away... we have absolutely no transportation... the Death Eaters have taken everything.  We can't Apparate; they'd track us down within five minutes... we can't use Floo powder; all the fireplaces have been closed off from the network... besides, where would we get it?  No broomsticks, no cars, no nothing... we'd have to walk.  Walk hundreds of miles while avoiding Death Eaters and Voldemort all the way…_ it sounded impossible... but yet...

Was it worth it?  Was risking death and facing the unattainable worth the guarantee of safety and comfort at the end of the line?

Surely...

Harry suddenly snapped back to reality when he saw a young boy running down the street toward them, toward the market square:

"They're coming!  They're coming!  Everyone, hide!  HIDE!" 

The Creepies—no, Death Eaters.  They were heading this way.  Harry's heart speed doubled as he turned to Brian with an expression of pure dread.  Brian nodded to him slowly.

"That idiot.  He'll let all of those bastards know we're here... well, see you later, Harry—and be careful!" He gave Harry a friendly cuff on the shoulder and took off down the street with his group following him to safety.  

Harry turned quickly and ran down through the market square again, empty in record time.  He ran as fast as he could back to the office building, keeping as close as he could to the outside walls, not even taking the time to look behind him to see if he was being followed.  He skidded down a narrow alley lining the building and ran through the doors, bolting them as securely as he could, and down the steps into the basement, where he found Ron and Hermione still sitting on the blankets.  He skidded to a stop by them and stood there, panting and out of breath.

"We've got to talk," he said.


End file.
